Potter!
by Morbubble
Summary: A little oneshot based on that deleted scene from the Final Battle. Drarry. Hopefully quite sweet.


**A/N; So this is based on that deleted scene, where Draco runs out away from the Death Eaters towards Harry. As such, it's based on the movie events and final battle. I saw the scene and oh dear me, my Drarry-shipping heart just sort of melted just a little. I knew that I HAD to write this.**

**Disclaimer; Is there any point in a disclaimer? Of course I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Warning; This is a Drarry fic and therefore it's slash. If you don't like that sort of thing, well, don't read it. **

Draco's legs walked him across the courtyard entirely of their own accord. He didn't quite know how he made it without collapsing. As his mother and father hissed his name, motioning him to come forward, he could barely look at them. His eyes were drawn instead to the motionless figure in Hagrid's arms.

Harry Potter was dead.

He shook his head in horror, in disbelief, in rage. Draco couldn't believe what he was seeing. Potter was dead. How could that even happen? Even when he'd taken the Dark Mark, even after all these months of working for the Dark Lord, he'd always expected Potter to win. Had always hoped he would. And now, his enemy, his victim of six years of bullying, the boy who was meant to save them all, was dead. And Draco couldn't stand it. He wanted to yell, scream, run to him like that Weasley girl had tried to do, break down in tears or kill Voldemort with his bare hands. But of course he couldn't. How could he show them that? How could he put his parents in danger like that? Put them through the pain of watching their only child get killed by their Lord just because he'd been stupid enough to go and fall in love with the boy he was supposed to hate?

Because Draco realised that now. He loved Harry Potter. Probably always had, in some way. And he wouldn't ever be able to tell him. It was over, Voldemort had won. And so, there was nothing he could do but walk towards him, the Dark Lord. He dragged his eyes away from Potter's limp form and looked straight ahead, in the direction of his parents. But as he passed Voldemort, the pale, skeletal man caught him in an awkward, awful embrace. He could barely repress his disgust. He wanted to kill this man. When he'd been ordered to kill Dumbledore he knew he would never have been able to do it, but oh how he wanted to destroy Voldemort. This man, this thing, had taken away the only person who had ever given Draco any kind of purpose, the only person he could ever feel himself loving. But he did nothing, mentally wincing as his own mind shouted _coward, you coward. _He walked past Voldemort, who began to laugh and mock the crowds of students and into the waiting arms of his mother who gripped his hand tightly. He couldn't even bear to look at Potter.

But Potter was looking at him. Harry was watching everything through barely-open eyelids as Hagrid held him. He watched as Malfoy shook his head, his eyebrows knit in anger. He watched as he began to walk towards the Death Eaters trying vainly to keep himself from staring at Harry. He could see the disgust in Malfoy's eyes as Voldemort embraced him, see the shame, see how much he truly did not want to join the Death Eaters. And when Malfoy's eyes did stray to look at Harry, he could see tears welling up in those silvery depths. And he couldn't help but wonder, why?

He couldn't help but watch him either. He could see the pain in his friends' faces and wanted to cry out to them and let them know he was alright. But he wanted to tell Malfoy too. He wanted to run to him, rip Voldemort's arms away from him and replace them with his own, he wanted to hold him and make sure he never looked that devastated again. Because –and really, there was no sense in denying it anymore, not when he'd just come back from the dead- he loved him.

That thought was surprising to say the least. The idea that he, Harry Potter, was in love with Draco Malfoy, was absurd. Ridiculous. But completely and utterly true. He supposed he'd probably begun to notice it in his sixth year when his obsession with Malfoy consumed him almost entirely. Of course, tailing the handsome Slytherin it hadn't taken him long to see just how good-looking he really was and how much of himself he hid behind the Malfoy mask. And he hadn't killed Dumbledore, hadn't been able to, no matter how much he disliked him. He'd saved Harry's life at Malfoy Manor even though it had been painfully obvious that he recognised him. And yet, he'd stayed quiet. _Why? _Harry knew the answer he wanted –that Malfoy loved him back. He doubted though, if that was the answer he would get.

Now he could hear Neville talking. Could feel the strength from the Gryffindor's words. He could see him standing there covered in ash and grime and blood but defiant and determined. He could see the gaps where people he loved should be. And he could see Malfoy standing with his mother, and he felt a rush of gratitude and… affection for the woman. She had lied to _Voldemort_ of all people, risking her life to save Harry's, to save her son's. Just as his own mother had done for him. He wanted Draco to look at him, to see that he wasn't dead, he was alive, he was going to win. But Draco didn't look round. And Harry's eyes flickered back to his friends and his heart broke a little when he saw their faces. He could hide no longer; he needed to let them know that he was alive.

Harry suddenly dropped from Hagrid's arms and ran across the courtyard, past Voldemort who stared in sheer disbelief. He ran towards his friends and he could see the joy and shock clear on their faces. He could hear the tell-tale cracks of apparation as Death Eaters suddenly took flight, abandoning their master in fear. But some Death eaters remained, the loyal few who ran towards the students with new levels of malice and hatred, and once again the battle withdrew into the halls of Hogwarts, the combatants amazed by what they'd witnessed but spurred on all the more for it. He gripped the hands of Ron and Hermione tightly and the three of them silently conveyed all that they could have possibly said in that moment before Harry spun round to face Voldemort once again. But before the Dark Lord could say a word a single desperate cry rose from behind him.

"Potter!"

And suddenly Draco was racing towards him leaving his parents standing in shock with their hands stretched towards him, bolting past Voldemort who still remained motionless, cold fury etched into his eyes as he realised what had happened. Harry Potter wasn't dead. Narcissa had lied to him. For the sake of this idiot running across the cobbles in front of him. Enraged Voldemort raised his hands and fired a green bolt of fatal light at Draco's back, a detached part of him registering happily the shriek of despair wrenched from Narcissa behind him. He would deal with her later.

But a second before the spell would have hit him Draco was dragged out of the way by none other than Potter himself, who quickly fired of a couple of spells of his own before hauling Draco and himself out of Voldemort's way and behind the cloisters. Voldemort seethed in rage and… confusion. Why on earth had Potter bothered to save Malfoy? What did that mean?

"What the hell do you think you're doing Malfoy?" Potter yelled the moment they were out of Voldemort's range. He had seconds, if that, before the maniacal wizard appeared again. His heart had practically dropped to his stomach when he'd seen the Killing Curse head straight for the oblivious Draco. But Draco had nothing to say to him. Nothing he could say, words would take too long anyway, so instead he grabbed the Chosen One's shirt and crashed his lips against Potter's –Harry's- in a desperate, soul-searing kiss. He didn't care if anyone saw, he didn't care if the whole _world _was watching. He just needed to know Potter was _alive_, he needed to show him how much he loved him. And Harry, Harry could do little but blink in shock as his mind numbly registered what was happening. _Draco Malfoy is kissing me Draco Malfoy he loves me? I love him oh god he's kissing me…_ But before the rest of his body could catch up to his brain the wall behind them exploded and Voldemort's shrieks of rage penetrated the air. And Draco looked like he might run away from Harry then; looked so heart-broken and ashamed because Harry hadn't responded, but Harry just grabbed his hand and they ran back into the castle as they fired spells behind them and dodged jets of light. Draco's heart was pounding and he was terrified beyond anything he'd ever felt in his life, but Harry's hand in his was warm and strong and Harry hadn't pushed him away yet and maybe, just maybe it would be alright after all.

Suddenly a Death Eater fired a spell at him, nothing he couldn't dodge. But he heard his mother's voice screaming in fury and he turned to see her fiercely battling the man with… who's wand was that? She must have grabbed it off the floor –there were plenty of them lying around. It wasn't her own and she couldn't quite handle it properly, it wasn't responding and she was losing, being forced back. Draco stopped; his mother was in danger… but Potter…

Harry turned and immediately saw Narcissa struggling and Draco's torn expression. Squeezing his hand tightly he started forward, nodding at Draco when the other looked surprised for a moment. They both drew their wands –neither their own- and started forward. But at that moment Voldemort himself blasted through the doors and in a split-second Harry had turned and sped away from the Malfoys. Surprised for a moment, Draco realised that Harry wasn't running from him but leading Voldemort away from them. Their Lord was hardly likely to be pleased with either of them.

Harry ran blindly, not knowing exactly where he was going but knowing that he had to get Voldemort away from Draco. His mind was still reeling a little. _Draco had kissed him_. What exactly did that mean? All he knew was that even as he ran from a psychopathic wizard who'd murdered half the magical world, including his own parents of course, who'd destroyed Hogwarts –his real home- and tortured so many, he felt a strange, light warmth inside, stemming from that place on his lips where Draco had kissed him and the place on his chest where his hands had gripped his shirt. And it gave him strength.

But Voldemort was fuelled by rage and that was powerful too. He was gaining on Harry and they were fighting, firing spells and jets of light at one another, Voldemort was wrapping him in black ropes, strangling him, laughing cruelly as he watched Harry struggle and then Harry was grabbing him, throwing them both over the edge, not knowing what was going to happen, feeling like his entire being was ripping in half and yelling in pain but it looked like Voldemort was in pain too and suddenly they stopped, thrown to the ground and rolling away from one another, inching towards their wands slowly, desperate to be the first to attack, knowing that this was it, this was what everything had all been leading up to these last few years.

And then they were yelling, the Killing Curse fired against the Disarming Spell, green and red light pulsating as the spells hit and combined in one long glowing strand of magic holding their wands together. Their hands shook with the effort to hold their trembling wands and their eyes stung against the harsh light, their teeth were bared in concentration and they knew they couldn't let their guard slip for even a second and Harry knew he might not make it, knew he might lose but then he thought of Draco and he thought of his friends and he realised beyond a shadow of a doubt that he simply could not lose. He would not allow it.

And that's when he heard it. Draco yelling his name for the second time that day. He could hear him but he couldn't turn to look.

"Potter!" There it was again, getting closer and closer as if Draco was running towards him.

"Potter!" Harry's whole arm was quaking now under the pressure but Voldemort was struggling too. He could almost see fear in those blood-red eyes.

"Harry!" And that was all it took to give him that final burst of strength. The light suddenly sped along Voldemort's wand and threw him off his feet. He landed and began to just… fade away, disintegrate into the air like tattered streamers. And then Draco was standing beside him again and somehow that made everything so much better, so much clearer. And one of them –or both of them- moved forward and caught the other in a fierce embrace and somehow, _somehow_, it made sense. And they were both shaking and muttering into the other's ear, apologies for everything that had passed but more loudly, more important, three words over and over and over again. _I love you, I love you, I love you…_

Dumbledore had been right all along. Love really was the most powerful force in the world.


End file.
